


a moment of relief

by epsiloneridani



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, mentions of injury to an eye but it's very brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: Wolffe loses his eye and all Fox can think to say is "So, you're still alive."
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & CC-3636 | Wolffe, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 222





	a moment of relief

“ _Su cuy’gar_ , Wolffe.”

Wolffe doesn’t look up. He’s perched on the edge of the bed with his arms wrapped around his chest. The top half of his fatigues is folded neatly beside him. In the dim blue glow of the medical bay, Fox can make out the fresh bandages and bacta patches the medic painstakingly applied to his torso. The right half of his face is covered too; the white gauze has been carefully secured to shield his eye.

Or whatever’s left of it. _Su cuy’gar_ , Fox said: you’re still alive.

Maybe he should have said _barely_ instead of _still_.

Wolffe shivers. “Might not be so cold if you put on your shirt,” Fox says dryly, propping one shoulder against the doorframe and folding his arms across his chest.

Wolffe snorts softly, but his face doesn’t twitch. There’s a blank emptiness to his stare. “I’ll get it,” he says tonelessly. “I told them I’d get it.”

“You told them off, you mean.”

Wolffe shrugs slowly, then winces. “I’ll get it,” he repeats hoarsely.

He’ll hurt himself trying. Fox crosses the room in two strides and beats him to the shirt. “Let me help,” Fox says quietly. “All right?”

Wolffe finally looks at him. He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t fight when Fox takes hold of his arms and maneuvers him into the fatigues. Once he’s settled, Fox eases down beside him.

“So,” Fox says, “ _su cuy’gar_.”

“You’re just gonna keep saying that?”

“Until I get an answer, yeah.”

It doesn’t earn him a smile. It doesn’t earn him any reaction at all. Wolffe stares at his folded hands. His shoulders are coiled. He shivers again. “What are you doing here?” he asks, barely a whisper. “Who brought you up here?”

“General Koon,” Fox says. “He said you got hurt.”

Hurt’s not the word for it; ‘close to catatonic’ was how Plo Koon had phrased it. Fox had received a summons to meet the general on a Senate landing platform, expecting it to be a surreptitious witness transfer or a quick data handoff. Instead, Plo Koon had taken hold of his shoulders and said _Wolffe needs you_.

That’s all he’d needed to hear to know he had to go.

Wolffe doesn’t move. Fox lifts a hand, hesitates a beat, then rests it on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here.”

Wolffe’s lower lip is trembling. He swallows thickly. “I know,” he says. His voice cracks. “But you shouldn’t be.”

“Like hell.”

“The Guard—”

“The Guard can handle itself for a while,” Fox says. “Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Wolffe takes a shuddery breath. For a second, Fox is sure he’ll fight. “Okay,” Wolffe says. His voice is small and strained. “Okay.”

Fox pulls him into his arms without a word and lets him bury his face against his shoulder. “It’s okay, _vod_ ,” Fox says, and clasps a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

A strangled sob wrenches its way out of Wolffe’s throat. His tears soak into Fox’s fatigues, burning against his shoulder in seething streams of grief. Fox runs his fingers through his hair and murmurs _It’s all right, you’re safe_ until the shaking ceases and Wolffe goes still.

“Hey,” Fox calls softly. “You still with me?”

There’s a bare shift of Wolffe’s head, something like a nod, but otherwise, he stays where he is. Fox flinches. Wolffe’s fingers are driving into the tender skin around his spine. It wouldn’t usually be an issue: Wolffe’s known for the strength of his affection and Fox has long since accepted that a reunion with his brother means he’ll end up leaving with a few more bruises than he had when he arrived, but in this case, the damage isn’t Wolffe’s fault: it’s from a long fall that followed an even longer chase.

He’s lucky his armor took most of it, or he might have broken his back.

Fox leaves Wolffe’s grip alone for a moment longer, then gently pulls away. The desperation with which Wolffe resists the shift makes Fox’s heart twist. “Bruised,” Fox says, and squeezes his wrist. “I fell off a building.”

That does get him a reaction. Wolffe’s eyebrows shoot up. “You fell off a building,” he echoes, swiping at his face and clearing his throat. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh.”

Wolffe makes a face. “No,” he says. “No promises. Just tell me.”

“Thorn and I were chasing a Terrelian Jumper who was wanted for questioning in relation to a recent murder. We caught up to him. He didn’t want to be taken in. He shot me and knocked me off a building.”

Wolffe coughs a disbelieving laugh. Something curled deep in Fox’s chest unwinds: if he can laugh, he’ll be okay. “So you got shot _and_ thrown off a building.”

“Thorn did arrest the Jumper, so it wasn’t a total loss.”

Wolffe ruffles his hair. “And to think Jango called you cunning,” he says. “Racing a Jumper on the rooftops. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Maybe falling was the plan.”

“Sure it was, _mir’sheb_.”

“Only my favorite people get my special kind of sass,” Fox says.

“I didn’t realize I was your favorite.”

Every single clone in the command class claimed they didn’t have a favorite brother and every single one of them was lying. Rex was the worst at it; everyone knew his was Cody.

“’Course you are,” Fox says, and gives him a tiny nudge. “You know that.”

Some of that old light sparks in Wolffe’s smile. “I guessed,” he says. “But it’s still nice to hear it.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“No promises.”

Fox wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. For a beat, it’s quiet.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Fox says at last. “I missed you.”

Wolffe’s head is pillowed on his shoulder. He blows out a breath. “Don’t know for how long,” he says. “I might not be able to fight right now, but I can still run tactical operations from the bridge.”

“You’re here now,” Fox says. “That’s what matters.”

Wolffe doesn’t disagree. It takes Fox a long beat to realize it’s because he’s fallen asleep. His mouth’s still curved into a shadow of a smile.

For the moment, at least, he has his peace.

\--


End file.
